


Eighty-Five Percent

by Siadea



Series: Out of His Depth AU [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-10-27 09:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siadea/pseuds/Siadea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration into the subtler flavors of homophobia, spiced by the most roundabout questioning tactic imaginable. Also known as 'How Dave Strider asks his Bro about really, <i>really</i> important things.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eighty-Five Percent

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Out of His Depth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/293845) by [in_fini](https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_fini/pseuds/in_fini). 



> Contains homophobic slurs, but you knew that. Can be read without having read _Out of His Depth,_ but if you have even a drop of pity in your heart for Dave/Tavros, you really should go read that first. This particular fic, however, has no pairings.

The radio was an endless source of inspiration for both Bro and Dave; the station didn't matter, since even Houston didn't boast a station that played _their_ kind of music. No, this was research, collecting raw materials, which meant there was _nothing_ they didn't listen to sooner or later.

Right now, it was the news. Fuck no. Dave reached for the dial, actually listened to the words being said, and paused. _"...our question of the day asked you, what effect will the end of "don't ask, don't tell" have on the military? Three percent of you said positive, 85 percent said negative, 12 percent said none in this unscientific poll..."_

His stomach lurched. It was as good a time as any, and - he had to know. Dave was pretty sure he already did, but he had to make sure. Was it or was it not like his Bro to layer his irony in godlike strata like unto the layers of mold on the pizza Dave had once seen under the pile of shitty swords in the fridge? Yeah. Yeah it was.

Be cool, Dave. Be indirect. Never ask outright. Never _ever_ ask outright about _this,_ because that's pretty much an admission of guilt right there. "Welp, I guess I'm not gonna be enlisting any time soon," he drawled, just loud enough to be heard.

"If you wanted to go to Sunday school, bro, all you had to do was ask." Bro didn't look away from the road, and Dave felt a tiny flicker of hope. He'd never had to be told that flipping shit about church was beyond uncool and right into crazy motherfucker territory. Except maybe that speaking in tongues thing; Bro had once put that in a mix, right alongside 2 Live Crew, but that probably didn't count.

Bro went on in the same level deadpan. "Fags're gonna fag, no matter what all. Long as they keep their fudge-packing behind closed doors, it's nobody's business but theirs."

Dave took a moment to ruthlessly mock the dead flutter of hope as he ground it under the bootheel of reality. So much for the end of 'don't ask, don't tell.' Behind closed doors? Dave could do that. "Yeah, I guess. Fuck if I'm gonna be peepin' in their windows with binoculars." He spun the dial on the radio, looking for another frequency, any other frequency.


End file.
